


Spare Arm

by HeliosHellion



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, distinguished gay meets disaster gay, rhys is gay for vaughn...these are the facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeliosHellion/pseuds/HeliosHellion
Summary: Rhys, alone and delirious, meets a friendly face





	Spare Arm

When Rhys finally awakens, he becomes fully aware of the sharp, drilling pain in his head. The concave vacancy in his eye doesn’t move, it’s lifeless and painful, so as he slowly regains consciousness, he keeps his echo-eye shut. The burning around him has subsided, yet the debris remains. It’s bright, a blue sky peeking through the remains of Helios, yet Rhys doesn’t stop to take the sky in. Instead, he stumbles back to press his side into a wall nearby, as not to tumble back to the ground. His eye scans the remains of Jack’s office, the screen is dead, his temple’s on the ground, and his arm is still impaled. The drumming in his head continues as he slowly moves against the rubble, trying to find a way out and into the Pandoran wilds, to Rhys, anything is better than dying surrounded by Jack’s downfall, so he shuffles slower and slower, closer and closer to the outside world.

 

If he was anywhere near cognitive, he would’ve noticed the missing exoskeleton as he shuffles by.

 

When he forces himself through the rubble, that’s when the realization hits him; Rhys is alone. He’s sure he’s been out for days, based on the horrible dryness in his mouth, and general horrible feeling in his chest, and he’s sure they would’ve found him if they were looking, Fiona and Sasha would’ve found him if they tried, Rhys knows they could find anything if they tried, but then he lets out a breath as he forces himself to remember that they willingly left him alone on Helios. ‘Don’t leave me behind,’ Was the last thing he said to Fiona, and judging by his situation, she lied when she said ‘We won't,’ 

 

But, that’s fine, it’s okay, because Rhys is still alive, he’s barely hanging on, and everything that made him special has been quite literally ripped from his body, but he’s still alive, so fuck them. They may have abandoned him, but Rhys is never one to give up in the face of turmoil.

 

Yet, right now, he definitely does want to give up. 

 

But, again, it’s fine, it’s okay, because Rhys is still alive. In this moment, as he’s thinking of it, he feels like laughing, because he definitely showed Handsome Jack wrong. The man who gave it his all to bring Rhys down, the bigshot himself, the hero, Handsome Jack couldn’t finish Rhys off, and that feeling is keeping Rhys alive for the moment, staying alive for the sake of spite, one last fuck you to Handsome Jack. 

 

“They left you for dead,” Rhys spits out quietly as he drags himself through Helios, “Sure, that really hurts right now, like, really bad, but it’s fine, you’ve been through worse,” He tells himself, definitely lying, but he continues regardless, “I’ll get out of this, find Vaughn, find Yvette, and figure this out,” 

 

So, Rhys carries on, no arm, no eye, and no port in his skull, simply the human parts of him left, targetable and squishy to all Pandoran wildlife and scum alike. He still has his stun baton, the only bite he has left on him, so he’s not completely defenseless. 

 

He wonders if Fiona and Sasha returned to Vallory with Gortys and her final upgrade, opened that vault, and got rich, and then he wonders if Vaughn is safe, wherever he is. There’s a sad part of him, and there’s a spiteful part of him, all targeted towards the people he trusted, and the people whose trust he destroyed by the reveal of a ghost in his mind, in that small caravan, Fiona and Sasha simply glaring. There’s a part of him saying it’s their fault, and then there’s another saying it’s his fault, and then there’s the part of him that speaks with a sharp tongue. Handsome Jack may be gone, but that doesn’t mean his tone left Rhys’s head. 

 

‘Nice going, dickhead,’ The ghost says, ‘You really showed me,’ 

 

So, he does what he always does, and ignores Handsome Jack’s stupid voice.

 

Despite telling himself that his friends abandoned him, he wonders if Sasha is okay. He shakes his head, concluding that he shouldn’t depress himself even more than he already is. Sasha and Fiona opened the vault and got rich, and that’s that. 

 

When he’s out of the rubble and trekking through the barren wasteland of Pandora, he keeps his head low as he forces himself to limp faster. He nearly decides to discard his Hyperion branded vest in the dirt, but he can’t help but keep it close to his person for some reason. In the distance, through the clouds of sand and heat, he’s sure he sees various vehicles put together by scrap pass by, and he’s sure his mouth gets a little dryer at the sight, not wanting to meet the locals that may want his head on a platter, or whatever bandits do to aimless idiots in the middle of nowhere. 

 

Soon, as he continues stumbling into a new life without Hyperion casting it’s shadow on the world, he realizes it’s hot. If the vest wasn’t covering him, anyone would be able to see the sweat stains under his arm. He lets out a shaky breath, shaking his head and definitely ruining the last bit of class his hair had, no more gel to keep it in place. The dryness in his throat needs to be fixed soon, or he’s sure he’ll die. It reminds him of the last time he did this, a dangerous trek through a desert, though he had Vaughn to fill the silence. Now, he’s alone, alone with the thoughts in his head, and he’s sure that’s the worst possible fate. He wants to scream, but everything hurts too bad, he’s sure he’d just let out a cowardly croak. He rubs at his eyelids, then runs a hand down his face. There’s gotta be some kind of town nearby, or something, anything to keep him alive. His feet hurt, an agonizing pain with each step, but he forces himself to carry on.

 

From the corner of his eye, he’s sure he sees a baby blue figure staring back at him. He blames it on the heat and continues walking. 

 

‘Christ, you die hard,’ A voice spits, ‘How long until you croak it?’ 

 

Rhys knows the voice is just a hallucination built upon impending heatstroke and loneliness, yet he indulges in it. 

 

“I’m not going to die,” He tells the voice, “And screw you,” 

 

‘Catty,’ The voice muses, ‘And here I was just trying to strike a friendly conversation,’

 

“Gonna say it again,” Rhys snaps, “Screw. You.” 

 

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever, save the tantrum for later, princess,’

 

Rhys glares at nothing. 

 

‘You think you’ll get eaten by skags?’ The voice asks, ‘Skinned by bandits?’ 

 

“Shut up, Jack,” 

 

‘Angry, huh? Can’t blame you, I guess. You did screw yourself over real hard, kiddo, I’m surprised by how much you suck, like, I know you sucked, but you are bringing it to a whole new level, Rhys, I’m honestly impressed,’ 

 

Rhys wants the idiot he’s hallucinating to stop babbling. 

 

“I’m going to ignore you now,” He says. 

 

‘Yeah, you do that, and I’ll just be here to remind you that you’re a fuckup,’ 

 

So, Rhys continues stumbling, wiping the sweat of his brow and honestly wishing he was dead. Anything’s better than having to hear Handsome Jack, and not being able to do anything about it. He’s lonelier and lonelier by the second. 

 

Again, he misses Vaughn. 

 

On cue, the voice pipes up.

 

‘You think that dweeb died?’ It says, that same lighthearted tone that made Rhys feel so welcomed before. ‘There’s no way he’s alive, right? Sure, he was a buff dweeb, but that guy was a friggin’ wimp,’ 

 

“Shut up,” Rhys snarls, instantly regretting the outburst as his throat stings in response. 

 

‘Struck a nerve, did I?’ 

 

“Vaughn’s fine. He probably met up with Cassius, or maybe he found the girls, or,” His gaze drifts down. “He’s not dead.” 

 

‘Keep telling yourself that, kid’ The voice replies, ‘And you’ll start to believe it,’ 

 

He keeps walking, and he keeps walking, and he keeps walking, and the world continues to be bare, empty, and filled with sand and sadness. He keeps thinking about Helios, the wreckage growing farther and farther apart from Rhys, yet closing in closer and closer in his heart, threatening to pierce. He misses his makeshift family, yet he’s so, so angry. A weak hand balls itself into a fist, and he bares his teeth, because he can’t let him win. This is his final fuck you, a new existence built upon spite. He’ll show them, he tells himself, he’ll show them all.

 

‘The little baby’s pouting,’ The voice says, demeaning and rude, all packaged in a baby-like tone. ‘Daw,’ 

 

He can’t believe he ever looked up to Handsome Jack.

 

So, he’s going nuts in the Pandoran heat, haunted by the voice of the man that tried to kill him, riddled by the reminder that everyone he knew left him on a deathtrap of a space station. 

 

When he thinks of it like that, the sadness really creeps in, like the concave eye in his skull, his heart is vacant. 

 

Maybe it’s been hours, maybe it’s been minutes, out in the new world, Rhys feels like it has been years of solitude. Maybe he’s being dramatic, but he very much wants to die.

 

He finds himself limping close to a cliff, where he’s in its glorious shade. He just needs to find a town filled with not-crazy people and he’ll be safe.

 

A sudden sharp pain runs through his shoulder, the one without an arm, and he lets out a strange kind of whine as he falls the cliffside, using it as a shoulder to lean on. The pain continues, and soon he decides he can’t go on further.

 

So, he slumps down, pathetic and lost, he sits with his back against the cliff, head hung low. Well, this is his fate, alone and lonely, accompanied by only the dickhead voice in his head. 

 

It’s not okay and it’s not fine, it’s awful and horrible, and he doesn’t want to die, despite thinking he wants to, he doesn’t want to die, but he can’t continue walking. He hopes Sasha and Fiona are rich and away from Vallory, and he hopes Vaughn is solving beautiful math equations wherever he is. 

 

‘Come on, kid, don’t give up now,’ The voice says condescendingly, tone sharp and rude, ‘This is just a pathetic way to go,’ 

 

Rhys keeps his eye closed. “Didn’t you want me to die?” He asks, 

 

‘So I changed my mind, people can change their minds, screw you,’

 

Rhys doesn’t answer. 

 

‘Oof, can’t even come up with a retort. Real sad, really, my heart’s breaking,’ The voice begins to laugh, and laugh and laugh, ‘Really, I think I’m crying,’ And it laughs, and laughs, and then, when the laughs die off, the voice takes in a sharp breath, ‘Open your eye, dickhead,’ 

 

So, Rhys does.

 

A skag, a rather large, scary skag, is sniffing his skag-skin boot curiously. He takes in a sharp breath, his whole body tensing up. Alright, well, this is how he goes, death by skag. He thinks that this must be his punishment for running that poor skag over a long time ago in a car that wasn’t his. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ He told Vaughn, ‘At least it didn’t suffer,’ 

 

Vaughn, he thinks of, Vaughn. 

 

His best friend wouldn’t want him to die by a stupid, mere skag. There is a small chance that Vaughn is still alive, and out there, and looking for him.

 

In that moment, Rhys realizes he needs to stay alive for that small chance. 

 

Something in his head kicks in, a sudden burst of energy rushing through him. Stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, not in spite, but in hope.

 

So, he kicks the skag in the jaw. 

 

“Get away from me,” He yelps, watching as the skag snaps at his foot, grabbing onto his boot with ease, so he slips out of it, leaving him in a tacky sock. Sad, but at least he’s not skag food. He rushes himself back onto his feet, using the cliffside as support, watching the skag chew his poor boot up like a toy.

 

So, he runs, the skag spitting his shoe out and taking pursuit. 

 

Well, this sucks. 

 

“Leave me alone,” He calls out to the beast, “You weird, ugly, thing,” 

 

Not the best of insults, but he’s running for his life, so he cuts himself some slack. 

 

Stay alive, he tells himself, stay alive. He’ll find Vaughn, maybe he’ll find the girls, and they’ll all be rich, and it’ll be great. 

 

While he’s looking back at the skag, he catches his foot on a rock, and falls.

 

Turns out, he was running right for a cliff and didn’t even notice. Well, he’s going to die. 

 

So, he tumbles down, and down, and down, cursing and yelling with each impact against the cliffside. 

 

Of course, he lands on his face, groaning in pain as he simply lays there. 

 

The energy that he had moments ago has now died, and now he wants to die again, but he isn’t dead.

 

In the canyon he landed in, everything is a little bit darker, but Rhys couldn’t know that, because he keeps his face on the ground, eyes squeezed shut. 

 

‘Nice tumble, shit-for-brains,’ 

 

Rhys makes a funny sound, a cry mixed with anguish as his hand twitches. 

 

There’s a sniff at his head, and he’s sure this is his end. He’s not too sure if it’s a skag sniffing him, or some other mysterious beast, all he knows, he’s dead. 

 

“Oh, god,” Rhys yelps as a rifle echoes through the canyon, and whatever was sniffing him tumbles to the ground lifelessly. He suddenly pushes himself up, looking for the source. 

 

“By Jove,” A voice calls out, lowering the rifle in his hands as he approaches Rhys. “That was quite the fall you took,” 

 

Rhys makes another weird sound. 

 

So, the figure holds a hand out, mechanical and old compared to the cybernetics of Hyperion. “Let’s get you back on your feet, then,” 

 

That voice is much nicer than Handsome Jack’s. It’s an English accent, and Rhys forces himself to look up at the figure. He’s greeted by a pair of glasses, one cracked lense, one intact, and a large handlebar mustache. 

 

So, Rhys takes the hand, and he’s quickly pulled back onto his feet. He wavers, threatening to tumble all over again. 

 

“Are you alright, friend?” The man asks, and Rhys takes a look at whatever he killed.

 

A bullymong greets him, dead in its tracks, and Rhys realizes he has never seen a bullymong up close. 

 

“I’m gonna pass out,” Rhys announces.

 

“Please do not do that,” The man replies.

 

Rhys does not listen. Right before he falls backwards into nothing, he realizes the voice of Handsome Jack has finally shut up. 

 

“Oh, dear,” Is the last thing he hears before he takes a well deserved rest.

 

So, he rests, and he dreams.

 

When he first collapsed in Helios, he didn’t dream, simply letting himself drift in a black hole, he didn’t dream, but now, he does.

 

He dreams of Vaughn and Yvette, Fiona and Sasha, he dreams of them. 

 

In his dream, things are bright, and he isn’t dehydrated, and he isn’t a sad, pathetic mess. In his dream, he feels Vaughn’s hand on his, thumb running over his knuckles. His best friend, simply a friend, just a friend. There’s a lovely light against Vaughn’s face, against a pink Pandoran sun, so kind and caring, and he’s just a friend, just a friend.

 

He truly is lonely. 

 

So, when he awakes in a small, dimly lit cabin, on a mattress without a frame, he raises his head, then lets it fall back against the cushion. 

 

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” The thick accent says, trotting over to him in boots that click loudly against the ground. 

 

“Uh,” Rhys groans, putting a hand on his face. “Where am I?” 

 

“Certainly not in the belly of a bullymong, thanks to my intervention,” The man muses before presenting a cup to Rhys. “We’re in my current base, an abandoned cabin I found while traversing the land,” 

 

As soon as the cup’s close to Rhys, he’s pushing himself up and snatching the cup, gulping down whatever’s in it, not caring too much about what’s in it. Thankfully, it’s not poison, or something, simply water, and Rhys is more than thankful. He finishes the drink in a second or two, and as he lowers the cup, he gives the man a look.

 

“Thanks,” He says, taking a sharp breath in. 

 

The man’s taken aback, but soon shrugs. “Glad to be of service,” He says. 

 

Rhys takes in his environment for a moment, the many rifles leaned against the wall, the fangs and claws presented on the wall like trophies, the large fancy chair in the middle of the small cabin, the man’s clearly some sort of hunter. 

 

“So, uh, you’re not going to kill me, are you?” Rhys asks, voice cracking, “I’ve been through a lot, and I’d just like to know if you’re going to murder me or something beforehand,” 

 

The man blinks through his round lenses, and then gives Rhys a boisterous laugh. 

 

“I assure you,” He manages to say through his laugh, “I would not dream of killing you, unless you gave me reason to, of course. I am a hunter of beasts, not of man,” 

 

“Uh, okay,” Is all Rhys says in response. “Who are you?”

 

The man tilts his head. “I just told you, my sharply-dressed friend. I am a hunter,” And then he presents himself with a wave of his hand. “Sir Hammerlock,” He announces, “At your service,”

 

Rhys is about to introduce himself when Hammerlock’s gaze drifts to Rhys’s chest. “And you’re Hyperion, I presume?” 

 

Rhys presses his hand against his chest, realizing he still has his vest on, the Hyperion logo standing proud against the patterned black. “Uh, yeah, but,” His brow furrows as he tries to say the words in his head, “I’m not Hyperion anymore,” 

 

“Hyperion itself seems to be destroyed, judging by that space station falling to pieces. I was sure shortly after Handsome Jack’s death, Hyperion would soon follow, and look who was correct,” 

 

At the mention of Handsome Jack, Rhys immediately tenses up. “Yeah,” He says, “I’m Rhys, by the way,” 

 

“Good to meet you, Rhys,” Hammerlock replies, “Do you mind if I see your arm? Or lack thereof?” 

 

“That’s a weird question,” Rhys answers, giving him a strange look.

 

“Don’t worry,” Hammerlock reassures as he crouches down to Rhys’s length, “I simply wish to survey your damages,” 

 

“What?” Rhys asks, perplexed. 

 

Hammerlock rolls his eyes. “I’m looking at how badly you messed up your prosthetic limb,” 

 

“Oh, uh,” Rhys readjusts himself to show his shoulder, shrugging off his vest on that side. “Sure, go ahead, or whatever,” 

 

“It’s certainly advanced,” Hammerlock muses, “Though the socket’s damaged heavily. Was the arm torn off?” 

 

Rhys stares at him.

 

“Yeah,” He replies, “Something like that,” 

 

“Regardless,” Hammerlock continues, “I could provide you with a replacement,” 

 

Rhys gives him a funny look. “What?” He says, chuckling, “Do you just have spare arms lying around?” 

 

Hammerlock gives him a look.

 

“And you absolutely do have spare arms lying around,” Rhys concludes in a deadpanned kind of way.

 

“We’re on Pandora!” Hammerlock announces, “If you do not have a few spare limbs lying around, you’re living foolishly,” 

 

Rhys looks through the cracked lense of Hammerlock’s glasses. “Is that an echo-eye?” He asks, analyzing the robotic eye staring back at him.

 

Suddenly, Hammerlock laughs. “Echo-eye?” He asks, as if Rhys asked him the most absurd question in the entire history of Pandora, “Do I look like I’m made of money?”

 

Rhys glares at him. 

 

Hammerlock adjusts his glasses. “No,” He finally gives a straight answer, “Just a simple cybernetic eye. Makes me a damn good shot, I believe.” 

 

Rhys turns his head away from Hammerlock for a moment, and so Hammerlock continues talking.

 

“I noticed the obvious hole in your head, as well,” He says, “Are all Hyperion workers fitted with the most expensive cybernetics, or is it just you?”

 

“Just me,” Rhys replies. “Well, not anymore,” 

 

“If you find the right engineer,” Hammerlock continues, “I’m sure you’ll be able to find a replacement for your,” He pauses, not sure what the right word is, gesturing to his temple with his hand, “Thingy-majiggy,” 

 

“Custom-made Hyperion temple port,” Rhys replies, “And thanks, Hammerlock,” 

 

“Simply helping where I can,” Hammerlock replies as he digs through a large crate of various mysteries, “Let us see,” He mumbles soon after.

 

Hammerlock retrieves an arm, and some wires, from the crate, old and mechanical, nothing like the high-tech cybernetics of Hyperion. For a moment, Rhys sneers at the sight of it, like a posh, rich asshole, but he forces himself off the pedestal.

 

“It’s not the best of the best,” Hammerlock says, crouching back down to Rhys’s height, “But it’s better than no arm at all,” 

 

So, as Hammerlock forces wires into the empty socket, jamming the arm onto Rhys like he’s repairing an old television, Rhys simply watches him, remembering the time he had gotten his first cybernetic limb attached.

 

“So,” Hammerlock eventually speaks up, “Ex-Hyperion, what’s next in store for you?”

 

“Uh,” Rhys replies, “I’m just trying not to die, really,” 

 

“Admirable goals,” Hammerlock replies, “But there must be something you wish to do, right?” 

 

Rhys blinks his one eye as he contemplates the question. Soon, he finds his answer.

 

“I’m gonna find some friends,” He says, “They’re more like family, really,” 

 

“Ah,” Hammerlock sighs in a sing-song kind of way, “I wish you luck on your venture, my friend. Try not to fall off any more cliffs, alright?”

 

Rhys snorts, laughing as Hammerlock gave one last look around the arm before pulling back.

 

“That should do it,” He concludes, “Try flexing your fingers, or something,” 

 

Rhys looks down at the mechanical arm before slowly twitching his fingers one by one. His previous arm, the one left impaled in Jack’s office, was certainly much more articulated, though there’s something about this arm that feels much more organic. Maybe it’s the distinct lack of Hyperion yellow, instead a cool metallic silver. He bends his arm, then unbends.

 

“This is,” He sputters, “Great, Hammerlock, thank you,” 

 

Hammerlock adjusts his glasses again. “It’s nothing, Rhys.” 

 

Hammerlock offers the kindest of smiles, and Rhys finds himself smiling too.

 

So, after that event, Rhys eats some kind of meat, he’s not too sure where it came from, but it was certainly edible. Hammerlock tells the stories of some of his finest kills, and Rhys shows off his stun baton, realizing he could’ve absolutely used it against the skag that stole his shoe, yet he simply didn’t because of his damned forgetfulness. Hammerlock offers a spare shoe, but Rhys is sure they’re different sizes, and tells him it’d be a fashion disaster. Hammerlock agrees. 

 

Rhys doesn’t take long to recover completely. He places a bandage over the hole in his temple, and keeps his vacant eye shut. It takes a tiny bit of time to get used to the new arm, but he’s content with it, because he’s certain sleeves will be able to cover the arm, and he’ll finally be able to wear normal shirts again.

 

He finds he likes Hammerlock, the strange way the man speaks, the little sayings, the stories, and the smile. It strikes him in a strange way, a way that somehow makes him miss Vaughn even more. 

 

When they depart, Hammerlock alerts him that the Catch-A-Ride system is down for an odd reason, and he doesn’t notice the saddened expression on Rhys’s face. He points Rhys in the direction of a nearby town and hands him a pistol for the journey.

 

“Gonna be honest, I never learned how to shoot,” Rhys tells Hammerlock.

 

“You’re going to learn quite quickly, then,” Hammerlock replies, “Be sure to point the barrel AT your enemies, not away, at,”

 

Rhys stares at him. “Uh-huh, yeah, I know what aiming is,” 

 

Before Rhys turns and leaves, he’s bothered by a small question, so he turns back around.

 

“Hammerlock, why did you help me?” He asks.

 

Hammerlock shrugs. “I saw a little of myself in you, well, before I became the bonafide badass you see before you. Besides, It seemed like a better idea than letting you be a bullymong’s dinner.” Rhys chuckles softly, and Hammerlock tips his hat to Rhys, “That reminds me, try not to die,” 

 

Rhys nods. “Yeah, I’ll try not to,”

 

Rhys begins to walk, but he stops. “By the way, I really like your mustache,” 

 

Hammerlock’s taken aback for a moment, but he smiles, brushing his mustache with his metallic hand. “It certainly is a nice mustache,”

 

And that’s their last words to each other before Hammerlock returns to his hunting, and Rhys continues on his venture.

 

So, Rhys continues walking, certainly more alive than before, and he finds that the voice of Handsome Jack has ceased to be. 

 


End file.
